


Three Minutes to Midnight

by AmberSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, Gen, Guilty Sam Winchester, Season/Series 05, Sick Sam Winchester, Strong Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberSock/pseuds/AmberSock
Summary: Death needs to make a decision about helping the Winchesters avert the Apocalypse.
Relationships: Death & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Three Minutes to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Season 5. Set in episode 5.21 Two Minutes to Midnight.  
> This is my first attempt at fanfic, really any sort of creative writing in decades. I needed a new hobby to ride out Covid.

All living things feared him instinctively at their birth, as it must be. He was unphased by their revulsion, for if this was not so, they would quickly become extinct. Most reluctantly accepted him at their own end, resigning themselves to the natural completion of their journey and the release from their struggles. Some fought bitterly to their last breath, desperately clinging to their continued existence out of fear of not knowing what came after. A few taunted him in denial and arrogance, convinced of their own invincibility, and thus they met him that much sooner.

The irony of that amused him.

Inevitably all were reaped by him, as it must be else there would be no need to reproduce to guarantee their continuation. There would be no recombination of genetic material into infinite variety, and they would cease to change, to evolve, to exceed those who came before. Their mortality was necessary to the whole, and he fulfilled his duty with gravity and reverence.

The details of individual lives had always been of little interest to him. While it was true that each possessed a discernible uniqueness, the same basic drives had become evident as a commonality to all life: survival and the continuation of their DNA. They were not unchanging, stagnant creatures like the Celestials who were created before them, but that was only perceptible when he withdrew to where he could observe from a larger perspective. With years reduced to seconds, lives became tiny sparks that shone brightly yet so briefly that they barely registered before coming to him to be extinguished. It was from this vantage point that he had been able to perceive the aggregation as a complete being, a living organism unto itself, each entity a cell that contributed to the overall function but that was minute and unimportant when viewed in isolation from the rest. It was their interactions that mattered, that produced the tiny ripples which grew across centuries and millennia until the entire course of a species was affected. Life was ever-changing, in a perpetual state of becoming something new, and in that he had found beauty. Humanity, in particular, had piqued his curiosity, when they began to transform sustenance from a mere requirement for survival into a new form of pleasure, into an art. The multitude of combinations of taste and texture fascinated him, and his ability to experience this for himself was an unexpected boon to his current predicament.

When the angels began to insert themselves into the course of human events, it started with small things. A decision to go to lunch here instead of there. An item that that was moved to a different shelf. A delay that caused a chance meeting to be missed. Small nudges that increased probability here, decreased it there. They were small ripples in an ocean, and so they passed beneath his notice while we was engaged by the grander scheme. By the time the wrongness grew distinct enough for him to discern, it was already too late. Former possibilities had become inevitabilities that now all led to the same outcome: the Apocalypse, the premature extermination of the human race. Worse, he found himself bound by one of the Celestials, Lucifer, forced into a manifestation to participate in the ending of the species just as they had become interesting. He found the situation intolerable, but reduced as he was to the limitations of his current form, he had been unable to conceive of a way to avoid the unnatural outcome.

Then one man, an utterly insignificant spec compared to the vastness of all creation, had an idea born of one part hubris, one part arrogance, and several parts Jack Daniels. A new possibility sputtered into to existence, and with it the whispered promise of salvation, but it was frail and would wink in and out with a stray thought.

This prospect of an alternate outcome bore closer examination. There were still far too many variables in play, but if it succeeded it would be an elegant solution. He would otherwise be reluctant to intervene, but the angels had already corrupted the natural order, and the Apocalypse would annihilate it.

So be it, then.

He would need to assess this human further to determine if his own intercession could alter potential outcomes enough to make the new course take hold. If the man attempted his plan and failed, the devastation would be incalculable. Tethered as he was, his options were limited, and unfortunately for Sam Winchester there was only one way that Death would be able to converse with him. But given Sam's previous track record, Death wouldn't have long to wait before an opportunity presented itself.

*************

Sam staggered down the hallway of the clinic, his body beginning to succumb to the raging diseases within him, his immune system overloaded and failing. He saw his brother fall and tried to help him up, lending what strength he could to help Dean keep going, to reach Pestilence in time before they were both overcome. Their only hope hinged on getting the ring that was the source of the Horseman's power, the third companion to the two others they had already obtained. The effort exhausted Sam's endurance though, and his body gave out as he collapsed to the floor, the fever burning him up from the inside. He knew he was dying, but also knew that it was just an inconvenience these days. Lucifer or the other angels would bring him back; they were still adamant that he would fulfill his role as Lucifer's vessel in the upcoming Celestial cage match. But this would slow them down, and if they were too late it would mean a massive death toll. Sam fought against the pull as he felt himself begin to slip away, then he was... somewhere else.

Sam started as he looked around, suddenly finding himself seated in a chair, all signs of disease gone. He was in a dim room covered with wallpaper that had a soft brick red background, peppered with patterns of flowers. Dusty books were piled on every horizontal surface of the room, and an old roll top desk sat on a table by a set of double pocket doors that divided the room from the rest of the house. A couch sat under a large bay window. Sam relaxed slightly as he recognized his surroundings as the study in Bobby Singer's house, but the scents of old paper, leather bindings, whiskey, and Old Spice that normally permeated the place were absent.

 _Not real_ , Sam thought.

Sam's eyes came to rest upon a pale, gaunt form seated across from him, behind Bobby's desk. The man was dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, hair swept back from a face with sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones. A cane with an ornate handle rested against the desk.

Sam blinked. No, not a cane. A scythe.

"I assume an introduction won't be necessary; we have met before, after all. Four times, I believe. It's getting difficult to keep track of you Winchesters."

Under Death's scrutiny, Sam felt like an insect pinned to a mat for examination. He didn't want to even breathe, much less speak. But he saw no sign of Dean, which meant that his brother was left to face Pestilence alone. He swallowed hard and forced his voice to work. "Look... there's no time, I need to get back. _Please_. We have to-"

Death held up an open palm, cutting Sam off. "Your absence will go unnoticed." Sam relented, hesitant about arguing with an ultra-powerful being. "You and I have a matter to discuss."

It wasn't a request. Sam's waited for Death to continue, baffled and more than a little disturbed by Death's sudden personal interest in him.

Death leaned forward, fixing Sam to his chair with the weight of his gaze. "You are considering allowing Lucifer to take you as his vessel?" His tone sounded... disapproving.

That caught Sam off guard. "Uh... aren't you... kind of on Lucifer's side? I mean... you're one of the Four Horsemen... it's what you want, isn't it?"

"I am a force of nature, Sam, not a lackey. I do not willingly insert myself into the family squabbles of petty Celestial beings. This... arrangement was not my idea." Death spit out the words like a bad taste. "And this is not about my personal preferences." Death's eyes bore directly into Sam's. "What are your intentions?"

Sam was reluctant to divulge any of their plans, but he figured that, as a Horseman, Death would already know the alternate purpose of the rings. And lying didn't seem like a good idea. He decided to forge ahead with the truth. "Look, I'm not planning to just let him use me as his vessel... exactly. We have the rings from War and Famine, and we know that with the rest of them we can open Lucifer's cage again. If we can get him back in..."

"The Apocalypse will be averted," Death concluded for him.

"Right. The problem is, once we get the cage open, it's not like we can just throw a ball in and tell him to fetch." Sam left it hanging there, afraid to say the next part out loud.

Death deduced the rest anyway. "You mean to overpower an archangel and drag him back in with you."

Death said it matter-of-factly, but Sam winced at just how absurd it sounded. Overpower an archangel. It was a stupid, half-assed, alcohol induced idea and he should have dismissed it entirely after his drunken conversation with Bobby. Would have, but every time he tried to put it out of his head it kept seeping back in like water through a damaged pipe. What he didn't get was why would Death would take any interest. Unless...

Sam met Death's stare directly. "Wait a second. _You_ think... there's a chance it will work?" he asked hesitantly. Death stared at him impassively for a long moment, and Sam was afraid he had overstepped his bounds. Then a flicker of amusement touched Death's face and was gone. Sam let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"The possibility does exist", Death granted, "else it would not have come to my attention. But the chances are... not good." The glimmer of hope Sam had allowed himself to feel faded.

"Answer this for me:" Death continued, "why would you even consider throwing yourself into the cage? You must know that it means an eternity of torment. There will be no angels coming to your rescue as a reward for your redemption. It will be you and Lucifer alone together, for all time. And he will make you suffer in ways you can't imagine. Worse than what your brother suffered at the hands of Alastair, and there will be no chance for reprieve. Do you understand? Do you honestly believe that this is what you deserve?"

 _I didn't think it would be a trip to Disneyland_.

Unlike Dean, Sam had a filter between his brain and his mouth and he kept his sarcasm to himself. He barked a short, self-derisive laugh instead. He had had plenty of time to consider this question; had, in fact, thought of almost nothing else since the moment he realized that he had doomed the planet instead of saving it. 

"How could I _not_ deserve this? I was the one who let him out."

Death arched one eyebrow. "You thought you were saving the world, did you not? That by killing Lilith, you would prevent the final seal from being broken. Big picture thinking, if you ask me."

_Exactly how much of my life has Death been eavesdropping on?_

"Yeah, okay, I get it. I know it was a set up, that Heaven and Hell were pushing for this before I was even born. That Ruby played me." And now Sam had to confront what he had always known, but avoided admitting to out loud. He shook his head slowly. "But that's not... that's not why I killed Lilith. Not really. That was just an excuse to feel better about using my power. Because it felt _good_ , and as long as I could pretend it was for some higher purpose, I could justify..." Sam trailed off, swallowed hard, and looked down. He looked up again, staring into middle distance, and when he spoke it felt like the words were being ripped out of him. "It was about revenge. It was _always_ about revenge. If it hadn't been, if it had really been just about saving people, I would never have had the power to kill her, no matter how much demon blood I drank." _You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo._ "Every time I had a choice to make, it was the wrong one. Because it was about _why_ I made them."

Death appeared to digest his answer. He spoke again after a moment. "And why would you make this choice you're considering now, Sam? Do you suppose that remorse and self-loathing will give you the strength you need wrest control from Lucifer?" The question was harsh, but Death's tone seemed earnest instead of sarcastic. It snapped Sam out his self-recrimination. Sam had never really thought about it; he just knew in his gut that doing this felt right. If he had learned anything, though, it was that if he did this for the wrong reasons it would also end in disaster. He tried to distance himself from his emotions and think rationally, logically.

"Okay, so let's say I wasn't the one who let Lucifer out. Or it wasn't my choice. There are still seven _billion_ lives at stake, and I'm just one. What happens to me doesn't matter, does it? If I can stop this, it's worth it." 

"So it's about math, then?" Death was definitely being sarcastic now.

 _If seven billion people aren't a good enough reason, what the hell is?_ Sam felt like Death was playing with him, and he was getting irritated. And nothing good could come of being cranky at Death, so Sam bit back his retort. A smile that didn't reach his eyes flitted across Sam's face- the one that always showed up unbidden whenever he was flustered. Sam ran a hand over his face, trying to stall, trying to figure out what Death wanted him to say.

Death finally prompted him. "Sam. When you come face to face with that abyss, is it really seven billion people for whom you will be taking that last step?"

Sam's head snapped up. "No," he admitted. Now he understood. "It will be for one."

"For your brother?"

And Sam gasped as an unbidden barrage of memories hit him like wave after wave crashing against a rocky shore.

_"If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you."_

_"I'm done trying to save you."_

_Dean's amulet, dangling over a wastebasket and then dropped._

_"All you've ever done is run away."_

_"I don't know whether it's gonna be demon blood... or some other demon chick or what. But I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you."_

Sam was gutted as Death replayed every knife-twisting repudiation from Dean. His chest and throat tightened as he felt the agony all over again. This time, though, the anger and defensiveness were absent, because looking back he knew he deserved all of it. Dean had tried so hard to drag him back from the damnation that Sam had embraced, and he had let Dean down so utterly, with only a lame "I'm sorry" to offer as they had watched Lucifer rise. Not once had Sam done anything to prove his brother wrong, to prove that Dean's loss of faith in him wasn't justified.

Sam's breath was ragged as he fought to regain his composure. He didn't understand what purpose it served to wrench these memories out of him, unless it was to show Sam how weak and incapable he was. Maybe Death was trying to break him, to crush every ounce of belief out of him to dissuade him from this course of action. Just like when Zachariah had tried to break Dean during their trip to Heaven, by selectively replaying every moment of Sam's life that had brought Dean the most pain. It had driven a wedge between them, and nearly drove Dean into submitting to the will of Heaven, into letting Michael take him. Zachariah had almost succeeded then. _Almost_.

Sam's guilt and recrimination evaporated and now he was pissed instead. He no longer gave a thought as to whether or not he offended this uber-powerful being. He met Death's gaze directly once again, all trepidation gone, and his voice was steel. "You son of a bitch."

Sam countered with a different memory: of Dean in the Beautiful Room, on the verge of saying yes to becoming Michael's vessel. Of Dean winking at Sam instead, then shoving the angel blade up through Zachariah's chin and into the bastard's brain.

"It doesn't matter that Dean doesn't believe in me, I've never given him a reason to. But after everything we've been through, after everything I've done, he's _never_ let me down. Not once. And I would rather go to hell than _ever_ let him down again." And for the first time since he had thought of this plan, Sam actually believed he could pull it off.

Sam tensed for a reaction. He wasn't sure what he was expecting- outrage, wrath, Death flaying him alive- but he did not expect Death to calmly lean back in his chair and smile.

Sam only remembered one thing after he woke up back in the hallway.

"Make sure your brother is the one who comes to collect my ring."

**Author's Note:**

> When Dean obtains Death's ring, Death is already aware of Sam's plan to say yes to Lucifer, take control, and jump into the cage. For some reason, Death seems pretty sure this will work. This is a conversation that I imagined would have taken place between Death and Sam.


End file.
